The Extremely Epic Viking Tale of Yondersaay

by Aoife Lennon-Ritchie

  “‘Actually, to be truthful, I really don’t mind,’ Brunhilda said, smiling and hugging Dudo. ‘Not at all. If we’re being a hundred percent honest, I could happily have gone either way.’

  “Thorar beamed a glistening, white-toothed smile at Brunhilda. Brunhilda caught the smile and smiled widely back at Thorar.

  “‘No, I know you’re just covering up your humiliation and disappointment,’ Dudo said, slightly affronted. ‘My poor, brave Brunhilda.’

  “‘No. No, I’m really not, my king,’ Brunhilda said. ‘You are a very nice man, courteous and kind, but frankly, you’re not really my type. I’m more into men of action.’

  “‘Men of action! I am King Dudo the Mightily Impressive!’

  “‘If you say so.’

  “‘Poor, sweet, broken-hearted Brunhilda,’ Dudo said, patting her on the head.

  “Brunhilda shrugged at Dudo and turned toward Thorar the Smoldering, who came to her side and stood close to her. So close that no one in front of them could see that secretly, behind their backs, they were holding hands.

  “Dudo turned to address the jarl once more. ‘I feel I owe you an explanation, my liege. I have met my Heart’s True Love. I simply cannot take another as my wife. It is therefore with ease that I give up this island and the glory it would bring. I would happily give up my throne and my entire fortune for just one day with her. For she is my Heart’s True Love.’

  “‘I see,’ the jarl said.

  “‘It just so happens that this woman, a woman who has spurned me, I might add, is not”—Dudo indicated Brunhilda—“the heiress of Yondersaay. In fact, she is a simple peasant.’

  “Throughout all of this, as he spoke, as Brunhilda and Thorar were secretly united, Dudo was aware of Ursula, standing still a few feet away, looking straight ahead. He did not turn toward Ursula as he spoke of his Heart’s True Love, nor did he indicate her in any way, nor so much as glance at her. He was simply aware of her.

  “The gathered crowd took in the news that there would be no party. This was disappointing. They were all dressed up now. Soxolf had washed his feet and everything. The people whispered among themselves, trying for the life of them to come up with some reason, any reason, to keep the party on as scheduled. Dudo, in this moment, as the crowd got louder and louder chatting among themselves, allowed his mind to wander.

  “His mind paced its way back to all of his encounters with Ursula, from seeing her on the ice to now, this moment. He remembered something, or he figured out something. At least, something occurred to him that hadn’t occurred to him before.

  “When Dudo had tried to talk to Ursula at the brook and she blanked him, it hurt. It hurt even more when, seemingly unmoved by the encounter in any way, she had hummed a song to herself. Ursula, Dudo now realized, hummed the same song when he saw her in the woods, and the same song was on her lips while she conducted her menial tasks around the dwelling place. In fact, every time King Dudo had seen Ursula, every single time, either as he encountered her or as she wandered away from him, she was humming the same song.

  “His mother’s song.

  “The song Dudo sang to the bear on the ice.” Granny said and paused to look at Dani and Ruairi who were bouncing up and down with excitement.

  Dani leaned into Ruairi and whispered, “I knew it!”

  Granny went on. “The assembled islanders were still chattering away to one another about how and where to best continue the festivities. Their attention was no longer on the wedding party in the clearing; they were neither watching nor listening to what was going on.

  “Dudo turned to look at Ursula with his realization fresh in his mind. Ursula had not moved an inch; she was still standing off a little to the side, looking straight ahead.

  “‘Look at me,’ he said.

  “Ursula did not move.

  “Dudo limped over to her and softly repeated through his wired jaw, ‘Look at me.’

  “Ursula looked at the king, and for the first time, Dudo saw what she had not allowed him to see all this time. Dudo saw his heart in her eyes. He saw his love for her reflected there. He saw what he had been looking for his entire life.

  “‘I will go away now, and you will never see me again,’ Dudo said to her almost in a whisper. ‘Just tell me one thing before I do.’

  “‘If I can, my lord,’ Ursula said.

  “‘Tell me you do not love me,’ Dudo said.

  “Ursula did not speak. She looked away from Dudo; she looked to the jarl and to Brunhilda, trying to get them to tell her what to do. They looked back at her, but their faces held no answers. Ursula turned back to the king and said in a low voice, ‘I cannot tell you that.’

  “Encouraged, Dudo said, ‘I think your heart lies with mine. Tell me it doesn’t, and I will leave and I will never come back.’

  “‘I cannot tell you that, My Liege,’ she said.

  “‘Ursula,’ Dudo said, taking her hand in his, ‘Ursula Swan White, of the sundown tresses and the sea-ice eyes, tell me I am not your Heart’s True Love.’

  “Ursula shook her head. ‘My liege, I cannot tell you you’re not my Heart’s True Love.’ she said.

  “Dudo persisted. ‘I defy you. Tell me to go away. Tell me to leave this island and never come back.’

  “Ursula looked straight into his face, resolute at last, and said, ‘My king, that I can do.’ Strong and firm, with tears nevertheless springing into her eyes, she proclaimed, ‘I can and I will tell you. Go away and never come back,’ Ursula turned from King Dudo, her Heart’s True Love.

  “Dudo was stunned. ‘But why?’ He waited for a response, for an explanation, but none came. ‘You cannot wound me like this and not tell me why. You cannot shatter my heart into a million pieces and not explain your reasoning.’

  “The ceremony-official-maker, who had been right there all the time looking from one to the other and back again as they spoke, looking more and more confused, finally caught up to what was going on. In a very loud voice he said, ‘What is this? Is the marriage off? What did he say just now, what did he say? Brunhilda, the heiress of Yondersaay? How preposterous! Brunhilda is not the heiress of Yondersaay.’

  “Dudo turned to the ceremony-official-maker. The jarl, Ursula, Thorar, and Brunhilda tried desperately to silence the minister, but he was having none of it and swatted them away like flies as they leaped to shush him.

  “‘Brunhilda is not the heiress of Yondersaay?’ Dudo asked the ceremony-official-maker.

  “‘What on earth gave you that idea?’ the old man said. ‘Ursula is the heiress of Yondersaay.’

  “Dudo was astounded. He didn’t know what to think. Ursula, the heiress of Yondersaay? He looked to Ursula for an explanation, but it was the jarl who spoke.

  “‘Let me explain, my lord,’ he said. ‘It is true what the old man says.’ He looked around to him accusingly, but the old man had fallen back to sleep. ‘Brunhilda is not my daughter. She is my servant girl. Ursula is my daughter. Do not blame them. I insisted on the deception. I could not risk you marrying my darling daughter just to gain control of the island. This incredible woman deserves to spend her life with someone who loves her for herself, not for her inheritance.

  “‘I forbade Ursula from having anything to do with you, though I knew how she felt. I made her swear on my life and on the lives of all who live on Yondersaay that she would reject you and turn you away. She thought, we both thought, we were doing what was right for Yondersaay and for our people.

  “‘Ursula is no longer bound by her oath.’ He turned to his daughter. ‘I release you from your promise; you must act in the best interests of your heart, not of mine.’

  “‘It didn’t work,’ Ursula said, indicating her necklace. For the first time Dudo really noticed her piece of jewelry. It looked like a smooth, clear piece of glass, like something roughly hewn or that had washed up on the beach. It was fastened around her neck on a simple string.

  “‘It is the
Violaceous Amethyst,’ the jarl said to Dudo. ‘It protects its bearer from intoxication. I was afraid you would ruthlessly and carelessly seduce my daughter if you knew who she was. She wore it and still she loves you. If you had tried to deceive her and manipulate her, it would have kept her safe. You got through to her simply by loving her. And she got through to you simply by being herself.’

  “‘I thought it was supposed to be purple,’ Dudo said.

  “‘When it is close to the source of its power’—the jarl indicated the Volcano Mount Violaceous from which it was mined—‘its hue can be manipulated by its wearer to channel the effects of the lava beneath the earth. Besides, a purple rock hanging around her neck would have been a bit of a giveaway; Rarelief the Splendiferous was certain to have told you about the Violaceous Amethyst.’

  “‘Fair point,’ King Dudo said.

  “‘I beg your forgiveness, my liege, and your understanding’ the jarl continued. ‘If you can forgive Ursula for deceiving you under order from me, if in your heart you harbor no ill feelings, you are truly at liberty to woo my daughter, my real daughter, Ursula.’ With that, the jarl left the hollow by the gargling river.

  “The villagers, having decided that not having a new king was a thing they could celebrate, moved the festivities to the harbor. Brunhilda and Thorar, holding hands openly now and hardly able to keep their eyes off each other, followed the islanders to the party on the shore. Dudo and Ursula were soon alone.

  “The sounds of revelry carried all the way to the brook where Ursula stood in the fading daylight, barefoot and in her simple dress. The king had never set eyes on anyone so beautiful.

  “‘I love you,’ he said when he was sure they were alone. ‘And I always will.’

  “‘I love you too,’ Ursula said.

  “‘Will you have me as yours?’

  “‘I will.’

  “‘Shall we wake him?’ Dudo gestured to the minister who was once again snoring under a rock.

  “Ursula smiled. ‘Yes, but I want to do this properly. I am an heiress, after all.’

  “Less than an hour later, as the last of the sun’s embers glinted off the water by the pier, Ursula walked toward her Heart’s True Love. In the company of her lifelong friends, dressed beautifully, with rubies and emeralds, her hair adorned smelling of the sweetest flowers from the beds of the Crimson Forest, Ursula said, “I do,” to King Dudo the Mightily Impressive, brave and noble lord of all Denmark. She took him to be her husband, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, for as long as they both drew breath.

  “Cheers went up, fireworks sprayed across the sky, and all the inhabitants of Yondersaay made merry until the wee hours of the morning.

  “So it was that King Dudo, a lone warrior with neither weaponry nor army, with no council to advise him and no magic to aid him, became next in line to be the lord and master of Yondersaay, the enchanted island in the middle of the northern-most seas.

  “The following morning, the jarl headed south with Brunhilda and Thorar. Before he left his dwelling place, he spoke in his private quarters with King Dudo. ‘When I die, the island will pass to you and your family. My daughter will bear you heirs, and in your family, the island will stay forever. It may not be traded or forcibly taken. Whosoever takes it forcibly, and believes it his, will be visited by lifelong disappointment. The island will stay in our line, directly or through marriage, forevermore. Should the line end, only then shall he who claims it be the true owner.

  “‘There is one last thing I must do for you before I leave. I wish to introduce you to someone,’ the jarl said. With that, the door to the dwelling place opened and in walked the ancient, stooped, hard-of-hearing, bumbling old ceremony-official-maker who had tried to marry Brunhilda and Dudo and who had succeeded in marrying Ursula and Dudo. Only he didn’t look quite so ancient or stooped, and when Dudo spoke to him, he didn’t seem quite so hard of hearing nor as bumbling.

  “‘This is Odin, the father of all Vikings,’ the jarl said to Dudo, who couldn’t disguise his shock. Dudo dropped to his knees before the mighty Odin, father of all Vikings, keeper of the treasures of Valhalla, and bowed his head.

  “‘My lord, I am overwhelmed by this great honor. I am at your service. How may I please you?’ Dudo said.

  “‘Your offer is a kind one,’ Odin said, in a voice at once gravelly and pure, ‘but it is I who am at your service. Should you or anyone on Yondersaay need aid or protection, you can be certain that I or my friends’—he motioned to two ravens of the darkest black that were resting nearby—‘will be close at hand and will battle to protect you. You will one day be lord and master of all Yondersaay, and with that honor comes a heavy duty. The priceless treasures of all the Vikings of old will be under your protection and will remain under your family’s protection until the final battle in Valhalla. We shall help you keep it safe.’”

  Granny looked up from her puffy bean bag. Both Dani and Ruairi were fighting off sleep as bravely as any Viking warrior fights off the fiercest enemy. “Time to call it a day, my younglings,” Granny said, trying to get out of the beanbag as Dani and Ruairi helplessly drifted into a deep sleep. Granny squirmed and wriggled in the puff. She tried to heave herself this way and that, but it was no use, she could not get out. “Mum!” she called. “Helllp!” There was no response from downstairs. “Maybe I’ll sleep here,” Granny mumbled as she struggled one more time. “Mummeeeee!”

  PART II

  CHRISTMAS EVE

  Dawn on Christmas Eve Morning

  What first made Ruairi suspicious when he woke up on Christmas Eve and looked out his window was not the hundred men running down the island High Street with lit torches in their hands and glistening battle-axes over their shoulders. It was not the fact that these men looked remarkably like the Vikings of old and were dressed—whiskers to big toe—in leather, chain mail, and sheepskin, with horny helmets on their heads. It was not the fact that some of the men in the middle of the crowd were hoiking a massive Viking longship on their shoulders in the direction of the harbor. It was not even the fact that these normally quiet, mild-mannered men—the village shopkeepers and local farmers, the teacher, the distiller, and the publican—were singing with throats upturned to high heaven, “Up HellyAa! Up HellyAa! I’m a Viking. The sea is the place for me. Up HellyAa!” It was the fact that right in among all the other Vikings, a fair bit off to the right at the back a little, Ruairi could see someone who looked a lot like Hamish Sinclair, albeit in a leather skirt, a sheepskin waistcoat, lace-up leather sandals, and a winged helmet. Hamish Sinclair, who maintains that vegetables are for wimps, that real men only eat meat and the occasional Cadbury’s creme egg, Hamish Sinclair, Ruairi now saw was, with not a shred of embarrassment, openly and brazenly eating an apple.

  Granny and Dani joined Ruairi at the window.

  “There’s something not quite right here,” Ruairi said.

  “No flies on you,” said Dani.

  “I’m flabbergasted!” Granny said as she took it all in. “I can’t believe my eyes.” She rubbed her eyes hard and looked again. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

  “Yuh-huh,” Dani and Ruairi said, leaning right out the window now.

  “And just to be extra, absolutely, completely sure,” Granny said, going pale and clutching her chest. “Is what you’re seeing by any chance all my lifelong friends and acquaintances, all the people we know from this island, is it all of them”—Granny took a deep breath—“looking like Vikings and acting like Vikings and doing things the way you’d expect Vikings to be doing?”

  “Yuh-huh,” Dani and Ruairi said again.

  “Is there any chance I haven’t woken up yet?” Granny pinched herself all over and collapsed into a heap onto her beanbag.

  “We’re awake, Granny. It’s really happening,” Dani said.

  “Really,” Ruairi said.

  “Well, I suppose, it is Christmas Eve.” She moved and put her hand under her bum. S
he lifted her hand out and found that she had collapsed on a mince pie. She looked at it, shrugged, and started to eat it. Dani and Ruairi waited for her to say something. “In all honesty, this does ring a bell.”

  “What on earth do you mean ‘this does ring a bell’?”

  “Granny,” Dani said, “everyone on Yondersaay is here on the High Street. Look. There’s the butcher eating an apple, the draper drinking mead from a helmet, the cobbler setting things alight with a flaming torch. Even the carpenters who live on the far side of the island in Halfdan Hollow are here. They’re carrying a longship down the High Street on their shoulders with the lobster fishers. Everyone is a Viking!”

  “You’re not, strictly speaking, a hundred percent correct in that statement, my dear,” Granny Miller said as she held out her arms so Dani and Ruairi could heave her up out of the beanbag. She eyed them both and looked back out the window again. “Everyone on the island is a Viking—except us.”

  Dani and Ruairi looked down at themselves to make sure they weren’t wearing sheepskin and leather, and sure enough, they were both still in their pajamas. “Yes,” Ruairi said, looking out the window again, “that’s right. Everyone on the island is a Viking except us.”

  “For as long as I can remember,” Granny said, “things frequently seem a little odd or a little not quite right all of a sudden come Christmas morning. People have woken up in places they don’t remember going to or have discovered tattoos they didn’t have before. It’s usually put down to having one too many hot toddies or glasses of mulled wine at Christmas Eve parties. But the draper, well, he’s a teetotaler.”

  “A what?” Dani asked.

  “A teetotaler is someone who never drinks. It brings them out in hives, I believe. The draper woke up one Christmas morning in the crow’s nest of a sailboat halfway to Australia. It took him a week to get home. So that was the end of the rum punch theory. There was a whispering suggestion that the draper lost the run of himself on this particular Christmas Eve and had a go at the gin and tonic when no one was looking. They say he only said it took him a week to get home because it took a week for the hives to die down, that he was in his attic the whole time. Now he gets at least one bottle of calamine lotion to put on the hives for Christmas every year as a joke.